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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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^EXTUS p. fjODDAF^D. 



ii J"^ C.Jo J 

Worcester, ^$lal^.: 

Lucius P. Goddard, 

No. 425 Main Street. 
1880. 



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Enterea accoidii g to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 

SEXTL'S P. GODDAED, 
Inlthe Office of the Librarian of Congiess, at Waehirgton. 



Deae "Lelia," 

To whom in inmost shrine of soul 
Love 's purest thrills of joy ecstatic roll, 
I dedicate this book to thee, and l^now 
A smile of love from thee for me shall glow; 
For any crystallized poetic thought, 
That lies beneath these husks of language wrought, 
Found life within the sunshine from thy soul; 
That has with reflex light illumed life's whole. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Back along the lapse of ages, 
Among the prehistoric pages, 
The ancient garnering of the years, 
The gathered cycles of the spheres, 
Where circumstance continuous wrote, 
Fantastic fancies freely float; 

And mid the hieroglyphic signs 
Past time has traced upon those lines. 
May gain, retain, some gem of thought, 

Which shall reveal how, when or where. 
By chaos, chance or cosmos wrought, 

Man 's pulsing life was quickened there. 

That thousand titled tale to tell. 
How Passions, Powers and Graces stole 

Into, or did some force compel, 
Their wondrous union in the soul. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Give answer to such thoughts as this, 
How Passions wild with Graces fair 

United, gender thrills of bliss, 
Unknown but where such unions are. 



'Tis midday, and upon the hills 

Are resting myriad glory shades 
Of color, which the sun distils 

Where " Indian summer days " are laid. 

Upon the grassy bank reclining, 

That bounds a crystal streamlet 's flow, 
To oblivion resigning 

Those curious thoughts which come and go 
As do cloud-like shadows flitting 

In swift succession o'er the lea, 
Which, upon the hillside sitting, 

We see shift momentarily ; 
Enraptured by the glories seen. 
The beauty of the near-by scene. 
The mystic glamour that o'erspread 
The mountain, plain and valley's bed; 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Enwound with tiny films of dreams, 

Half sleep had woven round the soul ; 
Transported by these varied gleams 

That through such subtle channels stole, 
Pouring the volume of their streams 

In floods of fancy o'er my soul; 
Until this perfect autumn day, 

Its lights, its shades, its balmy air, 
The pleasant bank whereon I lay, 

The sparkling crystal streamlet there. 
The distant hillside 's azure sheen. 
The clearness of the nearer scene. 
That perfect all — earth, air and sky' — 
Became oblivious to the eye. 



While back along the ages' lapse, 
Through fancy 's medium, was seen 

The primal origin, perhaps, 
Of man: fair Eden's storied scene. 

The valley 's counterpart was there, 
The mountain side, the shady glen. 

The balmy softness of the air 
Enshrouding my reposure, when 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

These streams of fancies gliding in 
Filled all my soul where fact had been. 

There radiant in my fairy dream, 
At ease reclining by the stream, 
And beating with life 's pulses warm, 
Behold, a perfect human form : 

Perfect the shape of every part, 
Perfect the pulsing of the heart; 
Perfect in all that earth can give 
A soul — a perfect place to live. ■ 

But whether by command divine 

This type of loveliness was formed, 
And — crowning climax of design — 

With His own life its pulses warmed ; 
Or whether, as some savants say, 

Affinities just right were there 
To mold component parts of clay 

Into a form so perfect, fair. 
That with electric force combined 
Could take or make a human mind : 
Or whether, through the ages' lapse, 

It slowly by selection grew, 
From out of protoplasm perhaps, 

According to its life 's demands; 



'THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Losing to-day its claws, its tail, 
Perchance to-morrow gaining hands, 

But never with each change would fail 
To rise to some more perfect plane 
Of life — some slight advantage gain. 

To these my vision did not reach, 

Nor philosophic theory teach, 

But plainly showed this model man, 

In all that makes his form, or can. 

Because of life, adorn its whole, 

Without addition of a soul, 

Whose passions, powers and graces, that, 

No matter how obtained at first, 
By chaos, chance or God 's fiat. 

Come to us all — the best, the worst ; 
Of this life 's accretions the whole, 
The make, or maker, of the soul. 

And there upon my vision 's field 

Were Graces, Passions, Powers revealed. 

Which in successive ages since. 

Pursuant sleuth-hounds of man 's soul, 
From where his infant ways commenced 

Have ever followed to life 's goal. 



10 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

To this fair form they all liad come 
To take or make themselves a home. 
There each expected on the throne 
To sit, and rule this form alone. 

But knowing only one could be 
Acknowledged supreme majesty, 
They all agreed this man might place 
His choice of Passion, Power or Grace 
Thereon ; but each reserved the right 
Through skill, or grace of sound or sight, 
To force all other claimants down * 
And through man 's will secure the crown. 



If I should fail to show the skill, 

Rare sights and sounds they there displayed 
To win this first of all our race. 

To render each the claims they made, 
Should fail to tell all you expect, 
I trust that you will recollect 
That only visions, day-dreams — 
Like unto oft recurring gleams 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. H 

From the watch-tower 's revolving light, 

Upon some danger-rock at night — 

Assisted likewise by the sum 

Of life 's experience that has come 

To me in years that intervene 

Childhood and manhood 's time between — 

That these this poem's source have been. 

O'erlook all faults, fair readers, then, 

If in your judgment I have done 
A foolish thing, nor credit won 

By sketching in rhythmatic rhyme 
A panorama of the war 

On battle-field of souls through time, 
And countersign Excelsior. 



But mark, as ages onward roll 
The w^arfare rages in each soul 
Which Chaos, Chance or Cosmos brings 

Through Life 's gateway, by all forgot, 
From shadow of oblivion 's wings 

To substance of the coming — What? 



12 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

But listen ! Do you hear those strains 

Of witching melody afloat 
On high ? And hark, they sound again - 

An added sweetness in each note ; 
While chiming, like a crystal bell, 
With perfect cadence — "All is well." 

Anon, afar among the trees 
You hear the rustle of the breeze 
Whispering sweet nothings to the leaves. 
And nearer by, you do not know 
From whence they come, above, below, 
Those rapturous chords are sounding, 
From the insect choirs abounding 
In myriad millions in the air, 
Too small for our discerning there. 

And then the floods of melody. 
In accents wild and free, that come 

From throats of song-birds, that may be 
Thus only calling birdlings home. 

There songs of busy bees are heard, 
Telling of treasure-laden things, 

And richly plumaged humming birds 
Make errie music with their wings. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 13 

But words of mine can never tell 
Half the entrancing sounds that fell 
With perfect harmony and rhythm ; 
Paraphrase cannot portray them. 

I only know that Music gave 
Such perfect chords and harmonies, 

That every grace became the slave 
Of her entrancing melodies. 

That ere each rapturous song was done, 
Commenced a wilder, sweeter one, 
Till all the earth and air resound 
And thrill with sweet concentrate sound. 



That just as waves which inward roll 

Are lost in surf upon the shore, 
These cloud-like. waves sweep o'er the soul, 

Become but surf, then are no more ; 
Except that each leaves only this. 

An increased ecstasy of bliss ; 
Until it seems the crown must be 

Sweet Music 's lawful property. 



14 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Now tones of sweetest cadence rise — 
Now fade away upon the breeze — 

As sweet as soft seolian sighs, 
Or zephyrs whispering through the leaves; 

And wafted with each tone, some word 

Of this exultant song was heard : 



Most beauteous one ! Exquisite form \ 

Oh, let there be 
A perfect bond of friendship warm 

'Twixt thee and me. 

With open gates admit thy queen 

Unto the throne ; 
By Passions, Powers and Graces seen 

To rule alone. 

This world is bleak, but, with its gales, 

Thou Shalt be blest 
With glorious songs of nightingales 

Bringing thee rest. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 15 

The wild, discordant thunder's roar, 

The earthquake 's shock, 
The rush of waves upon the shore 

Of barren rock, 

And all life's minor sounds, whose sum 

Strange discord make. 
Shall sweetest symphonies become 

For thy dear sake. 



But Music 's song was scarcely done 
When Mirth — who had advantage won 
Because incongruous tones, alone 
When starting, had together flown — 
Commenced, with most consummate art. 
To gaily sing this burlesque part : 



16 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

When we shall meet, in union sweet, 
Upon some seat 

By sylvan spring, then shall I sing : 
You are my king 

And I your queen ; no other seen 
Has royal mien. 

Though earth is bleak, electric freak. 
Each startling squeak 

Of opening door, the tempest 's roar 
Upon the shore 

Of hardest rock, the earthquake 's shock. 
The crow of cock. 

Shall melody become for thee 
Eternally. 

And with each gale shall never fail 
Some nightingale, 

Within thy heart, with wondrous art. 
Sweet songs to start. 



THE PROIILEM OF LIFE. 17 

Would I had power of language fine 
To laugh like Mirth between the lines. 
But skill of mirth evades all art; 
She merely touches in the heart 
Some hiddeu spring, and every door, 
Time locked, flies open with a roar. 



When on some breezy day in June 
We ramble through the fields at noon, 
Where birch and alder branches blow. 
Across where rippling waters flow, 
The songs of all the birds that dwell 
In wood or field, on hill, in dell, 

Break on the ear; successive notes 
Of black-bird, thrush and plaintive wren, 

Strange medleys from the bobolink 's.throat, 
And e'en the craiking of the hen; 
The distant cawing of the crows, 
And those sweet songs that each one knows 
Which blue-birds sing when winter breaks ; 
The joyous strain the robin makes. 



18 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

And endless chains of notes we hear 
Which sound all foreign to the ear. 

Startled we peer amid the leaves, 

Now here, now there, as shifts the breeze. 

Wondering, amid such wealth of tone 

We cannot tell from whence they come ; 

Cannot discern as hither blown 

The feathered ones they started from. 

But look, amid the leaves low down, 
There sits and sings a thrasher brown. 
All these exquisite songs have from 
This unpretentious thrasher come; 
Who imitates the every tone 
That other songsters think their own, 
So perfectly we do not know 
But from originals they flow. 
Yet mixed by him in such a muss 
They sometimes seem just ludicrous. 

So Mirth amid fine language hid, 
That wondrous grace given to our race, 
In turn shall mimic every one. 
Their very look, and act, and tone. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 19 

Until what we had thought to be 
Origiual sublimity, 
Because we see the maker 's fuss, 
Becomes as much ridiculous. 



Then Alimentiveness assailed, 

Amativeness its meshes spread. 
To win where Mirth and Music failed ; 

And not content with giving bread 
To furnish strength whereby to live 

Maintained that life to man is given 
To take, enjoy all life can give, 

To find all earth can grant of heaven 
In food and drink and woman's smiles 
And wanton acts and wicked wiles. 



It were not needed here to show 
What all with certainty must know — 
That letting passions given to man 
To gain, sustain and reproduce 



20 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

This life of ours, do what we can 
To life 's true source of bliss impart 
To each aspiring human heart — 
That letting these become the end 

Instead of glorious source of life, 
Eventually must always tend 

To pain instead of bliss in life ; 
And that the fruit which Adam ate 

From off life 's knowledge tree so fair, 
Trusting to reach the God-like state 

Because of promise to him there. 
Was only passion used amiss 
To gain this earth 's forbidden bliss, 
And thus sin 's foul miasma stole 
Into this perfect living soul. 



Thus Adam fell, and so within 
Fierce agonies of guilt there are ; 

And Eve, his counterpart in sin, 
Shall dark remorse forever share. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 21 

Now as we trace the ebb and flow 

Of feeling, fancy, passion, grace, 
And all the vaiious gifts we know 

Each individual of the race 
In some degree must actuate. 

We may perchance discover what, 
If aught, our souls may permeate, 

That perfect bliss shall be our lot. 



Did ye ever see an eagle 

From its eyrie rock descending 

Upon its prey? Note the struggle 

, Of its victim when ascending? 

Or standing ou some mountain 's height 
Above dark clouds that roll below, 

Didst see the wind 's and lightning's flight 
Destroy all beauty where they go ? 

Thus imagine Hate descending 
Unto this glorious form for prey — 

Note the blight that he is sending 
Where all was fair but yesterday. 



22 THE PnOBLEM OF LIFE. 

If ye have ever felt hate 's grasp 

Closing around your struggling soul, 
All vain your efforts to unclasp 

Its fastening, or its folds unroll. 
Ye need not speculate, ye know 

That wrecks lie thick where hate has been; 
And perhaps have learned this lesson 

In life 's hard experience school, 
That hate wounds deepest the person 

Who would wield it — the greater fool. 



But listen to the words that from 
This passion to this form have come : 

And ye amid this world ^s beauties 
Have thought eternally to roam ; 

With love 's, mirth's and music's duties 
And appetites surcharged, have home. 

But know these powers and graces fair 
Shall never yield you pleasure here ; 
I have a fund of hate in store 
Enough to palsy them, aye more ; 



THE l^ROBLEM OF LIFE. 23 

Ye all shall yet with grief bewail 

Ye ever met me in this vale, 

For I have sworn an oath to try 

To wound, destroy or cause to die, 

All those bright hopes which any may 

Ever indulge of endless day, 

Where they can sip of pleasures sweet — 

Quaff from life's goblet bliss complete. 

And then with glance that gleamed like fire, 
A mixture fierce of gloom and ire, 
And sullen wrath so fierce, so — well, 
It spake yet more than words can tell — 
He cursed them all with oaths so sere 

I will not stain this poem 's page, 
Or strain with pain the reader 's ear 

Their full import to gain or gauge ; 
But hope our lives may never lead 
Where hate will rule our thought and deed. 



Next green-eyed Jealousy arose 

And swept o'er Adam 's storm-tossed soul, 
Fleet as an arrow onward goes 

Until it strike and pierce its goal. 



24 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

She said that none spake any word 
That thrilled in her an answering chord; 
Jealousy is the only one 
Who can be found beneath the sun 
Who has no faithful bosom friend 
To whom they can with safety lend 
Their secrets and not have them told, 
So they may yield an hundred fold 
Of malice, scorn and gilded lies, 
Replete as dragon flies with eyes. 

They all wei-e seeking for their own, 

Nor cared how, when or where were blown 

The roses she had hoped might grow 

Along her pathway here below: 

To win a crown she would not strive, 

For all her powers were bound witli gyves. 

Some may profess to wish success 
To rest with me and my address, 
Yet probably I shall not be 
Beyond their sight before they see, 
Or think they find in what they hear. 
Some wrong or idle word somewhere. 
In such a way that any one 
Can see they wish some action done 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 25 

To rank me with infernal sprites, 

Who, fallen from imperial heights. 

Diverted on their downward course 

By some resistless magnet 's force, 

And by the swiftness of the fall 

Bereft of every charm and all 

The grace and beauty that were theirs 

While dwelHng in celestial spheres, 

Now only live to poison bliss, 

Yet found in some by-paths of this. 

I never nursed a friendship dear 
But witli its consummation near, 
Conflicting loves were sure to rise 
And bear away my wished-for prize. 

I never strove with patient toil 
To win the right to trust and fame, 

But all my efforts would recoil 
And yield some other one the same. 

I never wooed a maiden 's heart 
But when she knew that mine was won 

And safely pinioned with the dart 
That Cupid 's bended bow had thrown. 



26 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

She then would stoop to coquette where 
Eeauty, wealth or fame might be 

Combined with reputation fair, 
Or e'en the slightest chance might see 

To win that woman 's valued prize — 

A love glance from admiring eyes. 



But lo I a fairer grace appears ; 
Sweet Hope, thy magic tones we hear. 
In accents clear, so rich, so rare. 
Breaking on the mellow air. 
Like crystal tones old Time has given 
To tell the old, new way to heaven. 

And, as o'er man 's impassioned soul 

Her crystal tones in wave-chords roll. 

The green-eyed monster quick departs: 

Bright Hope steps in and sways man 's heart. 

And sweetly says — Must this be so. 

That we care uot for others? No, 

Oh no; to me the world is bright, 

Nor dimmed by shade, nor marred by blight; 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 27 

Its tones are keyed in accents sweet 
To scenes of bliss we oft shall meet 
While dwelling in a world like this. 
Kind words, dear friends, caress and kiss, 
All prove a source of joy complete, 
Forever present, ever sweet. 

Think not that bitter all shall be 
The fruit that time shall yield to thee. 
But know that sweet, as well as sour, 
Awaits our tasting, hour by hour; 
For time life 's pathway oft has strewn 
With blossoms that from hope have blown, 
And there are many buds to bloom 
For us; light shall illume life 's gloom, 
Shall shine athwart our lives and make 
Dark doubt retreat, sweet hope awake, 
And yield a harvest rich in bliss- 
ful hours along the years of this. 

And then the hope, sweet hope, that life 
Extends beyond this lower life; 
That in some realm celestial, fair. 
Where all pure spirits gathered are. 



THE PrxOBLEM OF LIFE. 

Life's full elixir we may gain, 
And free from doubt and care and pain. 
Beneath life 's trees exulting roam, 
Where evil thoughts can never come ; 
There with earth 's pains and tasks all done, 
Rejoice because life 's rest is won. 

Sometimes when life seems bright and clear, 

As I stand near its castle gate, 
I lose all thought of what is here 

And only note the joys that wait 
Our taking in those gardens fair 

That by the holy city lie; 
To hear the sounds and breathe the air 

That wait us in the by-and-by. 

Though rugged mounts and darksome vales 
We toiling traverse to life 's shore, 

Though burning sands and wrecking gales 
We all shall meet yet more and more, 

And mid shadows of the valley 

Of death, our life 's forces rally. 

We sometime may reach the fair heights 
Where the Castle Beautiful stands : 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 29 

Perceive in the distance the lights, 

Catch tones from that beautiful land, 
Which is, through faith 's intuition, 
Known as life 's perfect fruition. 



But see, who now is drawing near 

As Hope concludes ? Ah, it is Fear, 

Who dared while Hope with burning speech 

Spake of the life she hoped to reach, 

To venture out from where was made 

His dismal lair, in deepest shade ; 

And like as mists at set of sun 

Arise and veil what day has done, 

Gathering thickest everywhere 

The earth 's most verdant valleys are. 

So Fear arose, unseen, and stole 

Like night 's miasma o'er the soul, 

Completely veiling all the light 

By Hope transmitted to his sight; 

Fearful stood with quivering form, 

Like aspen leaves before the storm ; 



30 THE PliOBLEM OF LIFE. 

Dared not to look at aught around, 
But stands with gaze fixed on the ground, 
Until there breaks upon his ear 
Murmur of other passions near: 
Then all his being takes alarm 
At some imagined thing of harm, 
And hurries back, on fleet feet borne, 
Into the darkness all alone, 
To muse upon the dismal fate 
Reserved for him through others' hate. 



These are his thoughts when by himself: 
I would forego all power, all wealth, 
All this world 's honor and renown, 
If all alone I might sit down 
To rest my weary self in peace. 
But no ! ray fears shall never cease 
To drive me on through life's dark maze 
Until its retribution days; 
Then, oh, the dread, the mortal dread — 
It presses like a weight of lead — 
That Scorn and Hate and Jealousy 
Will follow to eternity, 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 31 

And whelm me in a gulf of pain 
From which I ne'er shall rise again. 

O Mercy ! Save me from them now, 

For Hell itself can yield no woe 
Equal to those that seize me now. 

O Mercv ! Save me, save me, do. 



Just then, beneath the wail of woe 
From this fair soul, began the flow 
Of that invidious wanton 's wrongs 
Who claims the more the less belongs; 
Envy her name, and hour by hour 

She comes to those who self alone 
Desire to raise to place or power; 

And cannot bear that odors blown, 
Freely for the use of any, 

Or Music 's measures sweetly moved 
And tuned to joy the hearts of many, 

Should be by other beings loved : 
Nor gift, nor gem that any one 

May have or gain and dearly prize, 
But she, who not an act has done 

To win, shall see with envious eyes. 



32 THE rnOBLEM OF LIFE. 

Her voice, to man before unknown, 

Now speaks the first alluring word ; 
Desires to rule upon the throne, 

Be smart, be famous, be absurd ; 
Gain all the treasures on the brink 
Of life 's horizon, though they sink 
Beyond reclaim the human bark 
With which she sails the unknown dark. 

Nor star may shine, nor flower may bloom 

To glow and scent some sweet retreat 
Wi^h silver light and rich perfume, 

But Envy glides on footsteps fleet 
To heart of each admiring one. 

Suggesting that 't were perfect bliss, 
And only justice to them done. 

To write them title deeds of this. 



Nor Grace, nor Power, nor Passion warm, 
Which dwells within the human form. 
But Envy claims came down from heaven 
To serve as her life-giving leaven. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 33 

But wild Eevenge is coming now 
With hatred stamped upon his brow, 
The dark imprint, I care not how ; 
And when he spalve, the savage cry 
Of " Hence ye cravens, every one," 
Scorched like a meteoric stone ; 
" For I have sworn by all below 
Not any from this vale shall go 
Until the victor's wreath shall crown 
My triumph over foes struck down, 
And ye have learned my joy in life 
Is gained in waging constant strife; 
That my life 's hope shall ever rise 
To this : That none may realize 
Aught of the hopes within their breast 
But lose all joy, all peace, all rest." 

Then throwing down his battle gage 
He swore an oath of fiery rage 
That all within this sylvan bower 
Should feel his fierce, consuming power. 

And such a wave, all glowing liot, 
A passion spasm, that I would not 
Endure for all the pearls and gems 
And gold in all the diadems 



34 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Of sultan, emperor and king, 

Or any material thing, 

Broke like a whirlwind o'er his soul : 

And like shifting sands, lifted, driven 
Onward by the sirocco's roll, 

Or tough oaks by the lightnings riven, 
They all were scattered far and wide 
Beyond the vale; and none beside 
Himself were there Revenge could wage 
His warfare on, and so the rage 
He raised to break those other wills 
Recoiled tempestuous on his. 

For, as huge waves whose storm-born speed 

Has borne them here from other shores, 
Must cause a current that shall lead 

Their waters back to those same shores, 
So all the evil thoughts we think. 

And all our evil actions done. 
Within our hearts shall sometime sink 

Unto the source from whence they sprung. 

But did I say that none had dared 
To brave his vengeful wrath, or cared 
To see such imps of passion born ? 
Yes, there was one — cold, stinging Scorn, 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 35 

Who dared to brave the fiercest glow 

Of passion at the whitest heat 
That hot Reveuge can ever show, 

Accept the gage cast at her feet, 
And with sarcasm's cold contempt 
Succeed in foiling each attempt 
Revenge could make in any way 
To stem the tide and win the day; 
For each contemptuous look induced, 

And every scornful gleam of thought, 
Froze deeper than the cold produced 

By freely mixing ice with salt. 

But these were naught compared with those 

Wild waves of scorn that broke e'er long 
Across her soul, and then arose 

In such a burst of scornful song 
As made the very place grow cold 

And freeze and crackle like the ice 
Upon some lake where skaters bold 

Defy at night old Boreas. 

But as a meteor shining bright 
Sweeps onward with resistless force, 

Leaving but traces of its light. 
So only dimly is the course 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Of Scorn 's sarcastic song outlined 
By recollections of the mind : 

And ye dare think the victor's wreath 
Can flourish green on thy fierce brow, 

When raging passion, underneath, 
Your very soul is blasting now; 

To think that victory can be 
Worth anything to such as thee ; 
And dare to ask us to believe 
That vile Revenge could even live; 
Or, if he lived, could still receive 
A crown, when there was none to give. 

Yes, I have heard, methinks, somewhere, 
Of some legend in times of old, 

In which a nymph of beauty rare 
Entranced the eye of a Cyclops bold. 

Failing to win the sought-for prize 

Or gain one love-glance from her eyes, 

He slew and took her to his home 

To adorn his favorite room, 

And wild with passion, hot with wine. 

Labelled with blood, " This one is mine." 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 37 

And just so much of loveliness, 

Of grace, of beauty and of bliss 

As this poor fool so dearly won , 

May there, when your vile task is done, 

Remain to you of victory's bliss. 

Labelled with blood " I have won this." 

Oh fool ! to think your crown can shine 
With beauty, when all beauty 's dead ; 

Can see fair grace in every line. 
When every trace of grace has fled. 

You dare to think that loveliness 
For you may glow resplendent, fair, 

When all there ever was in this 
Has gone to worlds some other-where ; 

And, more than fool, art hoping now 
The victor's wreath shall deck your brow, 
And also thinking, hoping even. 
That all of hope from earth is driven ; 

Art trusting with implicit faith 

That Passions, Graces every one 
Shall at your crowning be, when Faith 

And every sister Grace is gone. 



38 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

I scorn thee and defy thee too, 
For all passions are immortal ; 

Each grace unto its nature true, 
Changed only by the Eternal 

One who made them, and will keep them 

As gems for His own diadem. 



Friends and fair readers, can you tell 
With what you may employ your powers 

And spend your time with profit, well 
Enjoy and fill with bliss your hours ? 

Bunyan 's progress of the pilgrim 
Gives this saying in some hymn — 
And certainly it is not bad — 
" The more he gave, the more he had; " 

And whether this be true of gold 

And other like material things, 
We know a wealth of joy untold 

Is wafted oft on Pity 's wings; 
And that each silken thread we spin 

Through pity for some wronged one 's woe, 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

May serve as warp or woof within 

Our robe of life, where it shall glow 
Like priceless gems of perfect grace 
Which in our human hearts find place; 

That though from earth may never rise 
So much of vapor to the skies 
As from old ocean 's watery bed 
Is by the wind and sun 's power led, 
Sometime the willing earth shall gain 
Its portion of the blessed rain, 
Which with sunlight and heat shall bring 
The beauty of the glorious spring. 

,So if sweet pity in our lives 
For any woe is free to rise, 
It may from its eternal source 
Increase its volume and its force. 
And to our thirsting souls yet bring 
The graces of the moral spring. 

Yes, Pity, like the dews which from 
Amid the darkness often come. 
Shall all the gloom of moral night 
Illume with rays of dawning light. 



40 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

I come all passions to restrain 
From words and actions giving pain; 
For, if this world yields anything 
That sorrow to our hearts may bring, 
It is the wrong which rankles there, 
Until what once was bright and fair, 
By fiercely raging passions torn, 
Is of its native beauty shorn. 

Then let not any voice be heard 
To speak against the weak one word, 
Nor any one to strike a blow 
To injure people high or low. 

Though strange may seem a life like this, 
I know it is the source of bliss; 
For these, the actions that we do, 
The actions that we do not do. 
Alone can prove us equal to 
Do all which duty calls to do. 

Think of the mercy God has shown 
For all the wrong that man has done, 
Leading them upward as His own. 
To sing the song of victory won. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 41 

Then how can we, with mercy given. 
Eeject this gift and lose our heaven ; 
For mercy that we will not show 
Can never crown our lives, you know. 



But sliarp-eyed Curiosity 
Is coming now, searching to see 
What wonders of the earth and sea 
In this fair Eden-world may be. 

How quiet o'er the soul she creeps 
And takes possession while it sleeps — 
Softly gliding, as fades the light 
Into deep darkness of the night, 
Or, as at early morning dawn 
Before we know the night has gone — 
Transfusing fancies through its dreams, 
Perhaps but transitory gleams 
Of times before this globe had made 

The first grand circuit of the spheres, 
Or any planet's course was laid 

Far back among the circling years; 



42 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

And as the while he wakes from sleep 
The wonder grows, and he would know 

How these same spheres their circuits keep 
Through all the spaces where they go ; 

And longings wild come surging in 
Like ocean surf upon the shore, 

To learn where all of life begins; 
Or, if it ever was before, 

How transmigration has been made, 
And where, if we forever live, 

Our future course of life is laid, 
Or what advantage it can give. 

Yes, Curiosity has power 

To charm our souls in weary hours ; 

Because of it, man often strives 

To win the power that knowledge gives ; 

Gives nights to study, days to toil, 

And burns for years the midnight oil ; 

Because of it he dares the heat 
Of scorching suns and burning sands 

At summer's solstice, when they meet 
At noon in equatorial lands ; 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. ^3 

Will sometimes brave the fiercest cold 

Upon some frozen polar shore, 
Merely for hope to there behold 

Things others had not seen before ; 

Will sail far up above the clouds 

Sustained by only bags of gas; 
And in exulting throngs will crowd 

To any dark and dangerous pass, 
If only just a glimpse is seen 
Of lands where man has never been. 

He dares to plunge beneath the waves. 

To tread upon the ocean 's floor, 
To live the very life of slaves, 

Walk boldly through the open door 
Straight to the city of the dead, 
If Curiosity be fed. 

What wonder then that this one, who 

Had only just begun to feel 
The wish to know, desire to do. 

Should let this curious fairy steal, 
Without resistance on his part. 

Into possession of his heart. 



44 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

But see, alas, no crown descends 
Of myrtle leaves to deck her brow, 

For such fierce longings only tend 
To make her chances smaller now. 



Ah! ye the crown shall never win, 
For to the heart where ye have been. 
Rare Beauty's form, resplendent, fine, 
Transcendent grace in every line. 
Is coming now to win the prize. 

Ye Passions, Graces, all, arise. 
Salute this glorious, wondrous witch. 
Adorned with gems abounding, rich 
In all imagination 's given 
To any form this side of heaven. 

Not as Curiosity came. 

Gliding silently to her work, 
Nor softly as when one would tame 

Some heart where warring passions lurk, 
But like the lightning 's swift descent 
On some destroying mission sent, 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 45 

Transfixing by a single glance 
And making instant entrance; 
Or as a meteor's sudden light 
Bursting on darkness of the night, 
With its inimitable sheen 
Of light illuminates the scene : 
So Beauty seems to mankind 's sight 
Quintessence of concentrate light. 

Dazed by the splendor of her ways, 
The brilliant outlines of her form. 

Her ease, her grace and subtle plays 
Of light that came and went, as warm, 

Soft tints of color come and go 
Upon the clouds, or like the flow 
Of those electric waves of light 
Sometimes illuminating night. 

He casts aside all other thought, 

Content if he can worship this 
Fair form, that to his eyes is fraught 

With all earth has of loveliness. 
And, basking in her smiles, forget 
Awhile that life has labor yet. 



46 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

But as the rays that give us light, 
And yield the prism 's glories bright, 
Do also sometimes yield a heat 
That scorches everything it meets, 

So Beauty 's rays, bright, glorious, fair, 
Scorched all his heart, until despair 
Arose therein and seethed and burned 

And raged hotter, fiercer than fires 
To which victorious Michael turned 

ApoUyon, and to which all liars 
And the beast and the false prophet, 
According to St. John, shall get. 

And like as those who dwell far up 
Upon some lofty mountain's top 
Ejiow first when heat or cold or wind 
Or calm or any change portend, 
Feeling with keener pain the shock 
Because of the adjacent rock. 
And ether in surrounding space 
Is all the bulwark for the place, 

So those who charmed by winning grace 
Of form, or features of the face, 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 47 

Dwell higher up in realms of bliss, 

Where only fancies go between 
This idol of their loveliness 

And all the great unknown, unseen, 
That, far beyond our visions ken, 
In the far past of time has been, 
At present is, shall ever be 
Known only to Infinity; 

So too shall soonest feel the surge 

Of all the tides that ever roll 
From off life 's most eccentric verge, 

Converging on the human soul ; 
And wilder, fiercer, keener be 
The conflict, because that beauty. 
Like ether round the mountain 's height, 
Affords no bulwark for the right. 

But ye all know when summer's sun 

Has burned the earth and scorched the air, 
Till all that heat can do is done 

Before the smoke and flames appear, 
And life itself seems giving way 

Before the withering tides of heat. 
That swell with each recurring day. 

Until some ebbing tide they meet 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Upou the far horizon 's verge, 

Which by its drier, cooler air 
The latent mists of these submerge 

In clouds, that on their bosom bear 
Electric glowing veins of fire. 

Burning the impure parts away, 
When rain descends, the mists rise higher, 

The bow appears, a brighter day 
Breaks with rich promise to our view; 
Through fire all things shall become new. 

And ye have seen the tiny stream 
That babbles on between its banks, 

Keflecting only scattering beams 
Of life atween its grasses' ranks, 

Which, like night sentries, march their beat, 

And halt and turn whene'er they meet; 

Or mayhap stopped, when half their course 
Is marched, by some opposing force, 
Awhile, resume again their way, 
Going, coming through all the day. 
Upward, downward, to left or right. 
Almost veiling the stream from sight. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 49 

And ye have seen when men have stayed 

The stream until its waters spread 
And all the ranks of grass o'erlaid, 

Covering all the valley 's bed, 
Till some great rain, by adding force 

And volume to its gathering tide, 
Made it resistless in its course, 

That, with one sweep, it cast aside 
All barriers which man had made. 

And lookers on with bated breath 
Beholding wrecks and ruins laid 

On every side, apparent death 
To all of life which flourished there, 
Have said, " How sad a vale so fair. 
Should, by such accident from heaven, 
To perpetual waste be given." 

Have seen again above this waste, 

Fed by the debris that it left, 
A richer harvest in quick haste 

Arise than that of which bereft. 

And so when dark despair has burned 

And scorched the human mind, 
Until its brightest hopes are turned. 

Like summer 's hot and withering wind, 
4 



50 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

To surging clouds, where bolts of fier- 
y vengeance come and go in swift 

Succession, rising fiercer, higher, 
Till filled the measure of its guilt: 

And pressing, like the surging tide 
Of waters that man's skill has dammed 

But failed to hold, will cast aside 
All thought but this: My powers are dammed; 

And feel, aye, almost know the pain 

Wrecked souls, on reaching Hades, gain. 

May then the bow of promise span 
The way of each despairing man, 
That they may know, as lightnings burn 

The impure parts of air away, 
So fierce despair has power to turn 

The key that opes the gate of day; 

That floods which sweep our treasures down 
Beyond where we may ever go. 

May at their ebbing leave behind 
Debris gathered in their flow. 

That in our own or other's field. 

Shall an abundant harvest yield. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 51 

Then after Passion, Power and Grace 
Had failed to gain the soiight-for place. 
While light and shade of Beauty 's form 

And all those witching strains which fill 
The soul with ecstacy as warm 

As chords from angel Israfil, 

That gain w^hile fading added charm, 
Like distant murmuring of the bees, 

As in the Jayadeva psalm 
They swarm amid the Amra trees ; 

Before as yet were quite forgot 

The various feelings that had stirred 

His soul to such fierce tumult, but 
"Were now like far off music heard; 

Or softer Graces, that had lent 
Such glories as they came and went, 
This world would yield all perfect bliss 
Should they but always glow like this ; 

While many powers that seemed to be 
Just given for some utility, 
To measure distance, time or weight, 
Discern the color, know the heat, 



52 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Or realize the differing states 
Of change in forces which they meet, 
While these, and all that sought to reign, 
Defeated, menials remain. 



' T was then this perfect human form, 
With such magnificence endowed 

Of every grace and passion warm, 
Became vainglorious and proud ; 

While Grace and Beauty, Strength^and Skill, 
Failing alike to mount the throne. 

Became the servants of his will ; 
Will ruled upon the throne alone. 

But oft the ministers he chose 
To execute his will, were those 
Who rather ruin should be piled 
In dark disorder, than the mild 
And gentle ones, who seek to do 
All things equitable and true. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 53 

So Pride at present was the one 
By whom Will chose his service done ; 
And Pride said : " Are not all these ours, 
These wondrous Graces, Passions, Powers ? 
Behold, are we not mighty, strong. 
Endowed with all to gods belong?" 

And with an attitude like this 

And boastings full of many I 's, 
He seemed to claim exclusiveness 

Of swelling to enormous size : 

And as the moon by borrowed light 
Illumes the earth 's expanse at night, 
And, because of nearness, seems to 
Be most glorious to the view — 

Whilst suns, in size and volumed light 
As much beyond this orb of night 
As. are the spans of untold space, 
Between us and their dwelling-place, 
Beyond the measured miles that lie 
This side this mirror in the sky — 
So rays reflected by Pride's brass 
Attend the brayings of this ass. 



54 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Through the long night of ignorance 
About such shrines all fools will dance ; 

Perceiving in some Ingersoll — 
Keflecting straggling rays of light, 

Resounding too, from crown to sole, 
Among the votaries of night. 

With all the clanging crash of brass 
And roaring of escaping gas — 
A greater than divinity — 
Finite above Infinity. 



But Malice follows close on Pride — 
Indeed, they flourish side by side; 
Pride turns the crank that moves the wheel 
From which the threads of malice reel. 

Sometimes, beneath the ocean 's wave. 

Extended on its slimy bed. 
Like seaweed that the billows lave, 

And looking like their detached, dead 
Parts, drifting onward with the tide, 
The cruel devil-fish abide ; 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 55 

Watching, waiting, with wondrous will. 

Without e'en the slightest motion 
To reveal their presence, until 

Some one in old ocean 
Would bathe his aching, weary frame, 

Or searching for some wrecks of old. 
That, midst the tempest foundering, came 

Down hither, bearing life and gold ; 

Bathing or searching, buoyed by hope, 
Amid the mysteries they grope. 
Until they unsuspecting stand 
Within reach of its myriad hands; 

So slowly, smoothly, silently, 

Their slimy feelers slide around 
Whoever may their victim be, 

That not until securely bound 
And held beyond reclaim within 
Their clasp, does e'en alarm begin. 

Just so proud mortals often go 
In search of joys they claim as theirs, 

Or midst wild wrecks, of which they know, 
Gone down amid life's toils and cares. 



56 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Are pleasure seeking and claiming, 
As justly theirs, the treasure-trove 

That among the wrecks is lying — 
Fame, Friendship, Fortune and Fair Love 

And blinded by the pleasures, or 
By glitter of the treasures, for 
Which they earnestly are seeking, 
They notice not Malice creeping 

Its slow and stealthy way within, 
Until enwound by malice-thought 

Those immortal struggles begin 
That each victorious soul has fous;ht. 



Ah ! who that broods upon his wrong, 
Nurses dark Malice in his heart. 

But feels Remorse within ere long 
Like clouds of scalding vapor start. 

Methought that there that wondrous form, 
So proud, so beautiful, and warm 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 57 

With all passions beating within, 

Was struggling in the slow, sure pressure 
That fain would free the soul from sin : 

Not because it loves right better, 
But because sin 's heat is burning 

So intensely life 's a burden 
Too heavy for constant turning 

Without hope and without guerdon. 

Did ye ever note the writhing 
Of a serpent's form when dying, 
And have ye seen that last, last gasp 
That shows us when life's cords unclasp? 

Have ye seen a vessel drifting 

Amid the storm-tossed foaming waves, 
With its masts and rudder missing 

And rolling broadside to the waves ; 
A toy upon the waste of waters 

Wild, at the mercy of the storm. 
Time 's alarm-beat sounding quarters 

With echo tones, the lightning's form? 
Did ye hear the wild entreaty 

And the fierce, almost frantic prayer 
That Omnipotence would pity 

Their condition, protect them there; 



08 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

But changing, like the lightning's flash, 
To imprecations frantic, wild ; 

Cursings that ofttimes would abash 
The very devil 's blatant child ? 

Didst note the horror depicted 
Upon the passion-mirrored face, 

See the agony reflected 
Amid supplications for grace? 

If so, ye have some conception 
Of the horror-pulsing tone and look 

Of which Remorse's reception 
By this glorious form partook. 



But close upon Remorse crowds Doubt, 

Corroding by its acrid air 
The very springs of life, without 

Whose force death reigns triumphant there; 
Dispelling lights that make the sum 

Of life 's experience replete 
With flashes that have backward came 

From where life 's radii shall meet. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 59' 

There is an elemental force 

Whose universal presence yields 
And keeps life 's currents on their course, 

And yet disintegration wields : 

' T is oxygen, whose force supplies 
Our life, our light, and gives us heat, 

Yet is the agency that lies 
Athwart where life with death shall meet. 

So doubts a double power possess. 
The power to raise to life and light, 

If we are willing to confess 
Our doubt — in earnest seek the right; 

The power to doom us to defeat, 

Corrode and canker all our soul, 
If doubt and ignorance shall meet 

And block the highway to life 's goal. 



60 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

But ye have heard that pulsing moan 
TrembUng on the electric wire, 

Interpretation of whose tone 
Is thought to be the fit umpire 

Of any storms or heats or colds 

The coming of the morrow holds. 

What crystal stillness of the air; 

No stir of leaf nor sway of grass 
To break the silence reigning there, 

Or veil those pulse-beats as they pass : 

So in my dream that lovely form ■ 
Was veiled in silence and repose ; 

Revealed but pulse-beats of the storm 
Of melancholy thoughts that rose, 

And, trembling on its sensuous nerves. 
Prophetic told of dark Dismay — 

That last fierce passion fate reserves 
As scourge for sin, before the day 

Of faith 's resplendent light shall dawn, 
And start the buds of hope again 

Where'er despair or doubt have gone 
To reap sin 's harvest field of pain. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 61 

Malicious Malice ! Do thy utmost will 
Before life 's pulsing currents all are still; 

But know, tlio' doubt, remorse and fierce contempt 
Shall yield a harvest for thy each attempt, 

While seeds of hope upon thy barren soil 
Shall wither and decay, despite life 's toil 

Amid thy rank weeds' pestilential growth, 
Though melancholy and dismay may both 

A wild luxuriance of harvest yield, 
Ungarnered left to seed again the field, 

There yet are graces coming to distill, 
Amid thy wrecks, influences that will 

Scatter anew the seeds of hope, and bring 
After thy reign the sunlight back again ; 

For never yet were ruins piled so high 

Of those wrecked lives that on life 's highway lie, 

Nor ever moral cyclone swept the world 

Of truth, and some false prophet's flag unfurled, 

But love's celestial ozone was distilled 

To save such souls as otherwise were killed. 



62 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

What is descending from above ? 
Ah, it is all radiant Love; 
Floating down through the untold space 
This side of heaven ; so full of grace 
She seems to be of fairer mould 
Than any nymph of whom we're told 
By ancient bards. Fair, radiant Love, 
All hail ! God 's angel from above 
Descending to this passion scene, 
Subduing by thy perfect mien. 

But listen ! for all perfect, fair, 
Her crystal tones break on the air. 

Dark Hate comes forth, and craven Fear, 
And listen with attentive ear; 
Revenge, made mute by tones so sweet, 
Humbly kneels at fair Love 's feet, 
His courage gone, his bravo fled. 
And all the vaunting words he said 
Are changed ; his ways as mild, as meek, 
As those of souls who mercy seek. 

Conquered by Love 's subduing light, 
Illuminating what is right, 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 63 

Pale Fear came forth from out the gloom 
To learn what now might be her doom : 
If any hopes from love would grow 
For her on earth. We can not know 
What changes daily may take place, 
What passions rule the human race : 
For they are strange and changeful things, 
Whose fancies fleet on restless wings, 
Stay not their course for tide or sun, 
Nor anchor where old time begun, 

But fain would sail on cycled light 
Far back through ages into night, 
And rounding on the other side 
Take, like the sun, a homeward ride; 
So Fear, from out the gloom of night, 
Was borne to Love 's resplendent light. 

But listen now, raethinks I hear 
Her very words as she draws near; 
She says she came from God above, 
The glorious source of truth and love : 

I do not hither come to sound 
My praises to the world around, 
But that I may unto each heart 
:Somewhat of heaven 's pure bliss impart; 



64 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

I come as pilot of the soul, 
Through life 's wild mazes, to the goal 
Whose climes of light and seas of bliss 
Succeed the voids and glooms of this. 

Oh, did mankind but only know 
What blessings from love's sources flow; 
Oh, could they realize the joy 
That those who see its light enjoy ; 
The pure, unclouded state of rest 
That reigns in each recipient breast; 
They would not be serene, content. 

With little joys self-love can give, 
When bliss beyond compare is meant 

As portion for such ones as live 
In close communion with the One 
Who styles Himself the loving One. 

Ah, yes ! Love 's joys and bliss outshine 
The purest gems from earthly mine ; 
The glory of the sun at noon, 
The twinkling stars, the shimmering moon. 

And all that glorious whole of light 
That sparkles on creation 's lines. 

Are dull, beside the glories bright 
And clear which light Love 's perfect shrine. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 65 

Love shall all stormy passions calm, 
Yield to our hearts a healing balm 
For all misfortunes that befall, 
Life 's perfect lustre give us all. 

No vile revenge shall ever go, 
Or hate be, where love 's currents flow; 
All fears, all wrongs are banished from 
The hearts to which true love has come. 

No dark despair or doubt can be 
With her, nor any jealousy; 
There all true graces shall abide, 
Ture lustre for love true and tried. 

Ah, who that ever felt the thrill 

Of e'en this life 's ecstatic love, 
But knows perfected love will thrill 

All constant ones with joy above. 

The glory tints of bliss supreme 
That through love 's windows on us stream, 
Are but faint glimmerings from love 's source 
Reflected to us in their course. 



66 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

If dim reflections of love 's light 

From mirrored soul to mirrored soul, 
Reveal to us such glories bright, 

What shall we feel when pure love 's whole 
Of light and glory breaks across 
Our field of vision, and the loss 
Of hopes and friends that we have had, 

Like deepest darkness of the night. 
Precedes the morn that makes us glad 

With all its perfectness and light ; 
Aye, more, the certainty that soon 
Time 's flight shall bring eternal noon. 



Then Faith, Love's sister, sweet and fair, 
Came forth to meet and greet them there ; 
To tell them of the wondrous things 

Her glorious light reveals to view, 
Of brilliant gems her tireless wings 

Are wafting those to duty true. 

She told them of the great white throne 
Where God majestic sits alone ; 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 67 

Jerusalem, a jasper, bright 

With iridescent crystal light, 

Whose gates of pearl and streets of gold, 

Foundations precious to behold, 

Whose chrysolites with emeralds green, 
Chrysoprasus and topaz seen, 
Amethyst, jacinth, jasper too, 
Chalcedony, beryl, sapphires bright. 
Sardonyx and sardius' pure light, 
Are but shadows of gems within 

Her walls, whose sun and temple are 
Immanuel, who dwells therein. 

No shadow of night can come there; 
There kings shall bring their riches rare, 
There their glory and honor bear; 

And on her golden, glorious streets 
No one with any evil meets ; 
For God shall take away all tears. 
All pains, all sorrows and all fears. 

She spake of the river of life, 
Whose crystal waters constant flow 

From out beneath the throne of life ; 
Arched over all God 's emerald bow. 



68 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

And she told of the tree of life, 
Whose verdant leaves shall monthly grow 

As healing for the nations' strife : 
God 's magic balm for every woe. 

She said that on that blessed shore 

Life 's blighted hopes may bloom once more; 

That o'er that sea of lucid glass 

Which lies before the throne of God, 
Repentant souls may freely pass 

To worship at the feet of God. 

She told of the thousand years of bliss 
Reserved for those who faithful prove 

Through all the fleeting years of this 
Life — their first fruits of bliss above. 

She said that eye had never seen, 
That listening ear had never heard. 

The perfect glories that have been 
Reserved for those who keep God 's word. 

She said that fancy's wildest flight. 
Imagination 's utmost stretch, 

Have never seen the glorious light 
That shines for those God 's statutes keep. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 69 

You know, of course, these brilliant gems, 
The gold and precious diadems, 
Are graces which adorn the soul 
And pave the way unto that goal, 
Whose cHmes of light and seas of bliss 
Transmit some rays and drops to this; 
And know that sea of lucid glass 

Which lies before God 's holy throne 
Is Faith, reflecting as they pass 

To God, devotion souls have shown. 



Go, search for -'oy through every clime, 
In every land, at every time; 
Scan all the joys this world affords, 
Possessed by servants or by lords, 
Exhausting every source of wealth, 
The springs of fashion and of health ; 
Then try and see what fame can do 
To roll a tide of joy to you ; 
Ride long and far on Science' car 
To utmost verge of further star : 



70 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Explore the depths of every sea 
Where any gems of beauty glow ; 

Go anywhere where joy may be 
Or any whiffs of pleasure blow'; 

And when the whole extended field 

Shall fail a perfect joy to yield, 

Then roam no more on restless wing, 

Nor listen where such sirens sing, 

But seek through Faith and Hope the love 

Our God drops down from heaven above. 



But look ! The long-waged warfare done, 
The gift descends, the crown is won : 

No ivy wreath or myrtle green 

To deck the brow where victory 's seen, 

But joy, pure joy from God above 

Comes down to Faith and Hope and Love, 

Uniting thus these sisters three 

With crowns of immortality. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 71 

Joy forever! Life 's task is done; 
The secret 's out ! This is the stone 
Philosophers so long have sought ; 
So clear, so plain, weak ones the thought 
Can comprehend and make it theirs. 
Joy ! Joy ! Once more fair life appears. 

The fruit of life, that Adam might 

Have freely taken in Eden, 
And thus regained the life and light 

Lost through knowing good and evil. 
Can now be had by any one 
Who, with right thoughts and actions done. 
Takes to his heart these sisters three : 
They are the fruits of life's fair tree, 
Whose possession our lives will leaven, 
And crown with perfect joy in heaven. 

Filled with this hope, through faith complete, 

This love that blooms where'er they meet 

To such a crown of perfect joy, 

Let us courageously employ 

Each Power, each Passion and each Grace, 

In such a measure, such a place. 

That they in unison may play, 

Enabling us through life to say — 



72 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

That though the cords are broken all 

That bound our hearts of old ; 
That though the hopes we cherished once 

Have dust and ashes proved, 
And all the future we discern 

Is dark with clouds and gloom, 
While not one ray of light shines out 

From off their silver side : 

That though far worse than this be true, 

Nor thought nor tongue can tell. 
And all the far horizon's verge 

Where sight and faith should blend, 
But rolls with darkness deeper far 

Than we have known before — 
Life 's long campaign is not yet closed 

Nor all its battles fought. 

Then why in bivouac longer lie? 

The bugle call is, ''On!" 
Like Arabs, let us fold our tents 

And take the forward march : 
Eesolving that, while General Time 

Is marching us along, 
Our march shall be an upward one, 

Straight on through storm and shine, 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 73 

Writing Excelsior so clear, 

In characters of light, 
Upon our flag, that daily floats 

Higher on the mountain side, 
Until, with standard planted firm 

Far up above all clouds. 
Its folds may float in sunlit airs. 

Where breezes soft may fan 
Our aching brow and soothe our soul, 

As others have before — 
So clear that all the world can read 

Excelsior our aim. 

And so, while there are wrongs to right 

Or any crowns to win. 
We will not lay our warfare by, 

Or shrink because some thorns 
Are hid beneath the roses' bloom — 

It is their nature to — 
But trust the upward path we tread 

May yield rich blooms for us ; 
That joys destroyed by desert heats, 

And hopes by wild winds strewn. 
May on life 's highlands fruit once more 

And yield a harvest rare: 



74 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

That though our ships, which long ago 

Set sail across the seas, 
Return no more — while wailing winds 

And waves that moan and roar, 
Oft speak in telephonic tones 

From wrecks beneath the surge. 
Of fortune, friends, fair fame and faith, 

Wound in one common shroud — 
Life 's final voyage is not yet sailed. 

Nor all its seas explored. 

Then why at anchor longer ride. 
With sails and colors furled ? 

The tide is setting out to sea, 

The wind blows off the shore, 

Eternity lies all beyond ; 

Perchance the best of life. 

Then hoist the anchor up again, 
Let slip the lines from shore. 

Spread all our canvas to the breeze. 
Speed out upon the main ; 

Search every sea, sound all their depths. 
Gain knowledge where we may. 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 75 

If dark revenge and venomed bate 

Are armor for the right ; 
If mirth can cheer or music soothe 

The soul in trial 's hour; 
If beauty, shining in the face 

Or radiant in the form, 
Can raise our souls to higher planes — 

Make beautiful our lives ; 
If pity leads to acts of love. 

And scorn but scorch the wrong; 
If envy only lead the soul 

To seek such gems as glow 
And sparkle with like lights of love 

Which other souls have gained ; 
If appetites are used alone 

To purchase life and strength, 
Or place aright the germ where God 

Shall breathe the breath of life, 
That will, as other ones have done, 

Become a living soul ; 

If powers that deal with weight and size, 

With color or with sound, 
With any force or property 

With which we have to do. 



76 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

But give us knowledge more complete 

Of things we ought to know ; 
If pride assist the soul to rise 

To higher planes of thought, 
And we are only proud because 

The glorious God is ours ; 
If malice aims alone at sin, 

And not its source — some soul ; 
If wild remorse but lead the way 

Unto that crystal gate, 
Where faith with diamond finger points 

Up glory-tinted paths, 
That brighten, broaden, as they rise 

Unto Excelsior — 
Into those harvest fields of bliss. 

That yield eternal life ; 

If doubt, dismay and fierce contempt. 

Like snows where thawing suns may shine, 

Shall perish with their vain attempt 
To ruin that fair soul of thine ; 

If fear shall never show its head, 

Except to flee from sin ; 
If jealousy but sting the soul 

When evil thoughts assail ; 



THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 77 

If curiosity but prompt 

The searching sharp for truth ; 
If labyrinths of dark despair, 

Where we may sometime walk, 
Shall prove but avenues that end 

Where shines still clearer light; 
If duty walks with willing feet 

In paths of righteousness ; 
If hopes we cherish are the bloom 

From buds of duty-loving faith, 
And love the power upon the throne, 

Ordaining duty 's way: 



Then, perfect day for us shall dawn 
While voyaging on our way, 

And the welcome sound of land ahoy 
Shall break upon the ear; 

And we may land where long-loved friends 

Amid life 's harvest stand, 
And find that hopes we long ago 

Had buried with the past, 



78 THE PROBLEM OF LIFE. 

Like all good seeds have grown again, 

And, in life 's harvest field, 
Find fortune, friends and fruited faith, 

With all perfected powers, 

Passions refined, each grace complete. 

All perfectly conjoined. 
And crowned with all we dream of joy. 

Increased ten thousand fold, 
Extending on through cycled bliss 

Till aeon ages end. 

Written in twenty-seven States and Territories and on the Pacific ocean. 




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— BY 



^EXTUS ^. pODDAi\D. 



Worcester, giTass. 
Lucius P, Ggddard, 



No. 425 Main Street. 



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